


Visiting Hours

by dinolaur



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:32:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinolaur/pseuds/dinolaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott has a cold, so he keeps his best friend's mom company in the hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visiting Hours

Dying is actually a pretty boring process. When she’s not going in for her tests and chemo, she’s pretty much confined to the bed. She gets to chat some with passing nurses, and her doctor is kind enough to pop his head in every time he passes the room, but on the day to day, when her son is at school and her husband on duty, it’s boring.

Of course, there’s a small part of her that doesn’t want them there, because they have to see her slowly wasting away, and she knows how much it’s destroying them.

It’s an average sort of morning. She sleeps in a little bit, has breakfast, and readjusts—wincing a bit—to settle in and read a book that Stiles brought her yesterday. It’s well above his grade’s reading level, and her heart swells with pride about that.

She’s a few chapters in when she notices the door inching open. She glances up over the top of the book to see a pair of big, brown eyes peeking inside. Her first thought is Stiles, but the color is too dark, and then as the door opens a little more she gets a better view and says, “Hello, Scott.”

The door opens all the way to reveal the smiling little boy. “Hi, Mrs. Stilinski,” he says, his voice a bit congested.

“Do you not have school today,” she asks, marking her place in her book.

“I’ve got a cold,” Scott says. “So Mom had to bring me up here, because Dad can’t stay home to watch me, but she’s never at her desk, so I came to say hi.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you,” she says. “And I’m certainly glad to have the company. Do you want to stay in here for a while?”

Scott’s little face lights up, and she smiles as she thinks that the boy looks like a puppy. He’s really just adorable. And then he jumps back out of her sight for a brief second, coming back with a small vase of flowers. She blinks at them when he holds them up for her. “Mom gave me some quarters for snacks, but I know you’re supposed to bring people flowers when you come say hi to them in the hospital, so I got these instead.”

Her chest feels a bit tight, and she takes the flowers from him with a wide smile. This is just about one of the sweetest gestures anyone has ever extended to her. Of course, it’s been her experience getting to know Scott McCall over the past five years of best friendship with Stiles that Scott is made up just about entirely of sweetness.

“They’re beautiful, Scott, thank you,” she says, taking a deep breath to inhale the floral scent before placing them on the table right by her bedside. She leans forward to pat the bed by her legs where there’s the most free space for Scott to climb up and sit. He does so, and when she’s settled back in, she sees that his big eyes have gone very serious.

“Mrs. Stilinski, are you ever going to get better,” he asks, and she smiles. Never let it be said that Scott understood the merits of subtly. But he’s only nine. It adds to his charm.

“It’s hard to say,” she says, because it was difficult enough telling Stiles that she was dying. She doesn’t want to say those words to Scott too. “But the doctors and nurses are doing their very best.”

He chews on his bottom lip for a second and then says, “I hope you get better soon. You being sick makes Stiles really sad and quiet. I hate it.”

She knows. She hates it too.

“Well what about you, Scott? You’re sick today too. What’s the matter?” It’s a very obvious diversion, one that, had she pulled it with Stiles, would never have worked. Oh, Stiles would have gone along with it, but he’d look at her with eyes still too serious and sad and knowing. Scott, bless his little heart, falls hook, line, and sinker, and he goes off about how much his nose is running, and he’s got a cough that’s making him need to use his inhaler more than his dad likes.

He chatters on with her for hours, telling him all about the other kids in school. She hears about the Martin girl that Stiles has a crush on, but unlike Stiles—who is of the opinion that Lydia is perfect—Scott says that Lydia is boring and never plays with them when Stiles asks her to because she doesn’t want to get dirty. He tells her about the Whittenmore boy, and Scott and Stiles are both in total agreement about him—that Jackson is a jerk with stupid hair.

He shares lunch with her, and he ends up falling asleep across her legs at the foot of the bed. She’s managed to doze off for a little bit when there’s a light tap on the door. Melissa McCall sticks her head in and says, “I’m sorry to bother you, but is there any chance you’ve seen—oh, there he is.”

“Hi, Melissa,” she greets, lowly so that Scott’s nap isn’t disturbed. “You know you’re never a bother, and neither is he. He just stopped by so we could keep each other company.”

Melissa leans over the edge of the bed and brushes Scott’s hair back from his eyes. “It’s been a busy morning down in ICU. I hadn’t even noticed he was gone until I came by with his lunch.”

“Well, no need to worry,” she says. “He’s been nothing short of an angel. He brought me flowers.” She motions to the vase on the table, and Melissa beams—although she notices that it doesn’t entirely reach her eyes. “You’ve got a good boy, Melissa. I’m glad Stiles has him.”

Melissa blinks rapidly and says, “They love each other. I know Stiles would do just the same for Scott. You’ve got a good boy too.” She pulls in a deep breath and regroups herself. “You were sleeping when I came in. Do you want me to take him off your hands?”

“Oh, no,” she answers. “He’s fine. A perfect angel, like I said, and good company. Besides, you’re busy, and I’m sure he’ll just be bored left to himself at the nurses’ station. And Stiles will be here after school. It’ll be a nice surprise. He’s probably been up the walls without Scott in class.” With a longsuffering sigh that’s really completely full of fondness, she adds, “I’m sure I’ll have a conduct notice to sign.”

When Stiles shows up after school in a mess of flailing limbs, he is indeed overexcited to see Scott waiting for him. The two boys bounce around until Scott has to stop to cough and take a breath from his inhaler. Her husband, having come in on the tail end of the boys’ shrieking, is frozen making an exaggeratedly overwhelmed face in the doorway. She chuckles and waves him over. He drops a quick kiss to her lips and says, “Looks like someone beat us to the punch visiting you.”

“Scott and I had a very lovely day, even though being sick isn’t any fun,” she says cheerfully. There’s obviously no beating around the bush that she’s sick and that it sucks, but she can’t bring herself to sound mopey and depressed about it in front of Stiles. He worries enough.

“You sat with my mom all day,” Stiles asks quietly, but not low enough that his parents can’t hear him.

“Yeah,” Scott answers. “And I got her those flowers you said she likes.”

Stiles takes a minute to look between his mother and the fresh flowers on the table. His eyes are a bit wet when he slides closer to Scott—it’s not quite a hug, just a closeness—and mutters, “Thanks, Scott.” Scott slides his hand down to Stiles’s and squeezes with a smile.

Her husband reaches down to her own hand, and when she looks up at him, the expression he’s wearing is so similar to their son’s. He gives her another kiss and announces that he’s got to head back to work but that he’ll be back at the end of his shift to bring Stiles home. A final kiss to the top of her head, a ruffling of both Stiles’s and Scott’s hair, and he’s gone.

She pats the bed, and the boys both climb up, Stiles snuggled carefully against her side and Scott back down by her feet. “Now, Stiles, Scott and I are both dying to know what you did in school today, particularly what color dress Lydia was wearing.” She laughs when Scott groans dramatically and Stiles happily complies. 


End file.
